


Who the Hell is Hawkeye?

by pherryt



Series: Winterhawk Bingo [1]
Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Bucky's POV, Head Injury, M/M, Near Death Experience, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Tony/Rhodey/Pepper, deaf!Clint, farm, sam/steve/nat, side pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-08-14 15:55:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20194846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt
Summary: In retrospect, Bucky should have seen it coming. Sure, Clint was fast and agile and his marksmanship was out of this world - second to none, even Bucky - but on a team of superheroes, Clint was still all too human.





	1. The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> 1 - i couldn't resist the title  
2 - i seem to really enjoy writing Bucky's POV, but when i first got my card, i had intended on this being Clints - until I read something else and thought about how the other person would be reacting...  
3 - this story is a sequence of various bingo squares, one for each chapter, but not every chapter will actually be a square...
> 
> Chapter 1 is for the Winterhawk Bingo - Near Death Experience

In retrospect, Bucky should have seen it coming. Sure, Clint was fast and agile and his marksmanship was out of this world - second to none, even Bucky - but on a team of superheroes, Clint was still all too human.

An extraordinary human, but human none the less.

Bucky watched Clint fall, too far away to do any good, and saw the damn building fall on top of him.

His whole damn world screeched to a halt.

When it started spinning again, he’d managed to plow through baddies and cross the battlefield and was shouting for Clint as he dug through the rubble to get to him, his eyes glued to the spot he’d last seen Clint in, with no memory of the intervening moments that got him there despite the evidence that somehow, he had.

He’d worry more about that loss of memory, if he wasn’t terrified for Clint.

“Clint! Fuck, you better be okay, you fucking punk,” Bucky croaked out – his throat hurt for some reason as he continued to haul at brick and steel, trying to reach the archer.

Arms grabbed Bucky, hauling him backward and he fought them till Steve hissed in his ear, “Easy, Buck, easy. Tony and Hulk have got this, okay? They’ll get him out of there.”

Reluctantly, Bucky let Steve guide him away, though not out of sight. Steve could be a dumbass, but he wasn’t stupid enough to try. Bucky watched anxiously as Tony and Hulk cleared the rubble faster than he could have, his hands itching to be _right there_ anyway.

It was stupid. It wasn’t like he had any claim on Clint to begin with, but ever since Bucky had come to the tower, it had felt like he and Clint had some sort of special bond. While it had taken the others some time to warm up to him, Clint had automatically accepted him, right from the get go.

Bucky wasn’t sure as to all the reasons why, but continued exposure to Clint had only made Bucky want to spend _more _time with him, till Bucky had come to the sudden, mindboggling realization that he’d gone and fallen for the archer.

He’d kept his mouth shut, of course. Aside from the fact that Bucky was still remembering how to be a person (much less himself), he couldn’t forget all the things he’d done. He didn’t deserve someone like Clint, someone so… so pure as him, for lack of a better word. Because he knew just by looking at Clint that the archer had seen and gone through some shit and yet, it never seemed to bring him down. His cheery optimism and his moral compass was inspiring and yet, so far out of Bucky’s reach it was laughable.

Because as friendly as Clint was with the team, as tactile as he was with those he considered his friends, even Bucky – and he felt damn honored to be counted among Clint’s friends - Bucky had been able to sense that there was much Clint held back. Bucky wasn’t sure anybody other than Natasha even knew the fullness of Clint’s depths and history.

Where ease Bucky’s had been dragged out for all the world to see and gawk at – first in a museum and then dumped all over the internet.

Thanks Nat.

So Bucky had understood that want and _need _for privacy, and he’d respected that, but didn’t fool himself into thinking that he meant the same to Clint as Clint did to him.

Clint was just good people.

“What’s taking so long?” Bucky growled. “And why isn’t he answering the damn comms?” Not like he didn’t know the likeliest answers to that question, but Bucky didn’t want to even _think _of the possibility that Clint could be hurt, or worse.

Movement at his side caught his eye, and he looked to see Nat and Sam standing there, watching with various degrees of anxiousness showing.

Nat hid it well, but he could see she was just as worried as Bucky was.

Sam stood with her, silent support, a hand over her shoulder. Bucky realized in that moment how quiet everything around them was. the battle was over and he hadn’t even noticed.

Currently, the only sounds Bucky could hear around them besides their own breathing was the hiss of settling stone, the crackle of a fire here and there, of iron man’s repulsors as Tony carefully picked at the rubble, the whir of his suit as he moved and scanned the wreckage for the safest way to Clint. His voice, which came over the still open comm, directed Hulk who grunted and followed the directions easily, tossing chunks of building aside with a solid thunk.

It sounded like a lot of noise and yet it wasn’t, the silence deafening without Clint’s chatter in Bucky’s ear.

Suddenly, the repulsors stopped and Hulk froze and Bucky could hear Tony’s whispered, “Oh god,” over the comms like it was thunder in his ears and Bucky’s knees wobbled.

If it hadn’t been for Steve, he was sure he’d have fallen to his knees.

Still, Bucky pushed at Steve, rushing forward and Steve, far from holding him back, was right on his heels.

So was the rest of the team. They skidded to a halt beside the busted building just as Hulk gently lifted an unconscious Clint from the wreckage, his body looking too small and broken in Hulks hands, his uniform stained with blood.

“Oh god,” Bucky breathed. Clint was dead, wasn’t he?

“Give ‘em here, Hulk,” Tony said, hovering with his arms outstretched. “I’ll fast track our little hawk to the medics. The rest of you, I’ll see you there.”

“Keep us posted, Tony,” Steve called out even as Hulk placed Clint carefully in Tony’s arms and rumbled out, “Go fast. Heal Hawkfriend.”

Tony didn’t wait around to reply; as soon as Clint was secure in his grip, he shot up and away and Bucky involuntarily took a step after with a strangled sound, halting only at the touch of delicate fingers on his arm.

Nat wasn’t looking at him, her eyes tracking Tony till he was lost to sight around the other buildings, but there was a tightness around her eyes and lips that Bucky recognized all too well - of concern, worry and fear that he’d seen too often on Steve’s face in the early days of the tower, always directed at him, though it was less hidden than what flitted over Nat’s face.

But then, Steve was always open with Bucky in a way that he wasn’t with others, though many had _thought _he was open with them. Steve’s earnestness and good ol’ American charm got ‘em every time, but could never fool Bucky.

Nat had that same look, and Bucky could sure as hell sympathize.

“I’m sure he’s not dead,” Bucky said, though he wasn’t sure of any such thing, his heart still pounding in his chest.

Turning to face him, finally, Nat smiled wryly. “He’s like a cockroach, he’ll survive.”

Bucky wasn’t sure she believed it any more than he had.

“Hawkeyes survived worse,” Steve pointed out.

“That ain’t helpin’, pal,” Bucky drawled out. “Everyone’s luck runs out sometime.”

Nat’s fingers squeezed him tighter and Bucky shifted, wrapping an arm around her shoulder to comfort himself as much as her. Eyes darting over to the quinjet, Bucky started walking, steering her easily toward it.

“We’ve got cleanup!” Steve protested, though the protest was weak. Bucky knew Steve wanted to go to Clint’s side, make sure his teammate was okay, but Steve’s sense of responsibility had always been strong.

“Leave it for Starks crew. I ain’t stayin’ here when Clint could be dying,” Bucky said.

“It’s not like we can _help _the doctors,” Steve said. “So we might as well do some good here.”

Bucky turned and glared. “If it were me where would you be?”

Steve blushed and mumbled but nodded. “Okay, your right, Buck, of course. I wouldn’t be anywhere other than your side. Warm her up, Sam, I’ll be just a minute.”

Bucky stalked on board, Sam and Nat only an instant behind. Sam gave Nat another squeeze before he let her go, patted Bucky on his arm with a sympathetic, _knowing _look that Bucky didn’t like in the least but couldn’t care less about confronting him on – not now, not in this moment, not when he was filled with overwhelming worry – and slipped forward to the pilots seat.

Hulk lumbered in after them, gave himself a shake and then shrank in on himself, Nat handing him a robe from one of the lockers while Bucky paced.

“Hurry the fuck _up_, Steve,” Bucky muttered. He tapped his comm on. “Get your ass on board or we’re leaving you behind.”

“Hold your horses, Buck,” Steve said patiently from the back of the quinjet. The sound of the ramp closing filled the jet.

Whirling, Bucky growled, “What was so damn important that – “

He froze at the sight of Clint’s bow in Steve’s hands, miraculously unharmed, though the same couldn’t be said for Clint.

“Thought I saw a glimpse of it in the wreckage. Knew he’d be unhappy when he woke up if we’d left it behind,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky swallowed a lump, felt his anger at Steve – undeserved anger – deflate, and with it, so did Bucky. He took a step back, then another till his legs hit the bench and he dropped onto it heavily.

The jet took to the air seconds later, Bucky staring at Clint’s bow, eyes glued to it, heart pounding. The difference between this mission and the few others he’d been on so far was glaring.

It was too quiet, with no exhausted post mission banter happening, no snide remarks from Tony or dreadful jokes from Clint. No amused ‘_why do I put up with you’ _eye rolls from Nat, no praises from Steve on a job well done.

It was suffocating.

Bucky wasn’t sure if it was like this any time an Avenger fell, or if it was just Clint, not having been around to see anyone else that badly hurt, but then, this team didn’t so easily get hurt. Not with various super serums running through their veins, or mad scientist gadgets outfitting a person.

But Clint…

Bucky couldn’t wipe the image of Clint’s bloody, lifeless body out of his mind and he knew, if Clint died, he would lose a part of himself, one of his treasured anchors in this new world.

He’d still have Steve and Steve was important – would _always _be important - but Bucky wasn’t sure he’d ever be the same if Clint died.

Nobody could replace Clint.

He was one of a kind.


	2. A Long Wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winterhawk Bingo - Square: Head Injury

The medical floor of Tony’s tower was actually an offshoot of the science levels with a few rooms set aside for the emergencies that the Avengers just couldn’t seem to avoid.

At least it was high tech _and _had privacy.

Bucky would have jumped out of his skin by now if he’d had to brave a _real _hospital. This place was bad enough on a _good_ day.

Today was not a good day.

Currently, the Avengers and a few others had come to keep vigil while Clint was in surgery. Pepper and Rhodey had joined them moments after the others had arrived and each of them took up space in the waiting room in their own way.

Steve was sitting with his head in his hands, second guessing every decision that had led him to this point, that had led Clint to being injured, even though everyone there knew Clint had a tendency to get hurt walking to the damn common room.

Nat and Sam stood with each other, tense lines throughout Natasha’s body, winding tighter and tighter till Sam would reach for her. Then she’d close her eyes and exhale and lean in to him, but she couldn’t stand the comfort too long, pulling away. Sam let her, his eyes understanding, never pushing.

Sam was also good people.

Tony was everywhere. In the waiting room one minute, out in the hall the next, always talking, sometimes shouting, haranguing people on the other end of his invisible phone. Only Pepper and Rhodey were able to get him to slow down and stop, though it was only for a few moments at a time.

Tony was clearly agitated, clearly upset that he hadn’t made it to Clint before he’d been buried under a building.

Bruce wandered in, freshly changed, worry clear on his face.

“Any news?”

Steve punched a wall.

Bruce blinked, then sighed, finding a seat and slumping over. “I’ll take that as a no.”

As for Bucky… he was crawling out of his skin being trapped here, but he couldn’t _leave _not knowing how Clint was.

It wasn’t like he could do anything here, or that Clint would be particularly happy to see Bucky over anyone else – especially Natasha. But he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t. He had to know…

Clint was one of the bright parts of his life these days and Bucky couldn’t stand the idea that yet another thing would be taken away from him.

Hadn’t he lost enough?

Hadn’t Clint and the rest of them?

Bucky didn’t know everything, but he could see haunted eyes and sleepless nights written across Clint’s skin, across every Avengers skin.

“Terminator, think you could stop being creepy in the corner?” Tony snarked when he came back into the room.

Bucky’s hands clenched, his metal arm whirring and creaking.

“Tony, leave him alone,” Steve bit out.

Tony opened his mouth but Pepper grabbed him by one arm and Rhodey by the other and they pulled him away, whispering at him.

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve said. “I thought he’d gotten over…” Steve waved a hand vaguely in the air.

“He’s worried,” Bucky said, trying to be understanding, though anger still simmered inside him.

“We’re all worried,” Steve said. “Doesn’t give him the right to jump down people’s throats.”

“I think it also goes without saying that you don’t punch holes into other people’s walls either,” Bucky pointed out.

Steve flushed, muttering, “It’s a dent, not a hole.”

They all settled into an uneasy silence after that, time creeping by all too slowly and yet it was hours later when someone, at last, came out. A doctor by the look of him, but not one Bucky was familiar with.

And he was all too familiar with the medical staff in the tower.

Everyone’s attention was immediately on him, but nobody spoke, afraid to voice their fears until Steve – bless him – spoke up, always doing the things others couldn’t or wouldn’t do, even if it hurt him.

Bucky would feel bad about that, as he usually did, but in this moment he was grateful for Steve braving the question when he could barely breathe himself.

“How is he, doc?”

“He’s alive and he’ll recover,” the doctor said, not bothering to introduce himself. “Multiple broken ribs and internal bleeding from that. A broken leg, fractured wrist, lots of bruising and superficial cuts – frankly, he’s lucky it wasn’t worse. It’s amazing Mr. Barton didn’t die outright.”

Bucky heard a strangled sound and realized belatedly it was _him, _but from the looks on the others faces, he wasn’t alone in the feeling accompanying the sound as the doctor continued, either not noticing or unconcerned with the reaction he’d garnered.

“He’s out of danger but he _will _be out of commission for a good while.”

“Why?” Bucky croaked. Everyone looked at him disapprovingly. Shit, that’s not what he meant. He wasn’t heartless, for god’s sake. He wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore. Not really. “With all of these advances – “ He raised his arm, _the _arm, the one he never liked to call attention to – “and, and modern tech and shit, can’t we fix him any faster?”

“We’re not miracle workers, Mister Barnes, and Clint’s not a super soldier. I don’t know anything that’ll make him better faster. Would if I did.”

“So, he’s okay, right? All things considered?” Sam asked.

“Well,” the doctor paused and it was Natasha who snapped this time as a cold pit of fear settled into Bucky’s bones.

“What aren’t you telling us?” she said softly, and if the doctor had any self-preservation, he’d be running right now.

“What we’re most concerned about is the head trauma Mr. Barton suffered,” the doctor hedged, looking at her warily. Looked like he had some sense of self-preservation after all, and Bucky would feel some satisfaction about that, if the doctor’s words hadn’t turned him cold as cryo.

Pepper gasped, covering her mouth while Tony’s arms came around her shoulders.

“Meaning what?” Bruce asked.

“Meaning, we won’t know anything for a while yet, till the anesthesia wears off, but you all need to be prepared for the eventuality that Mr. Barton might not wake up.”

“That’s unacceptable,” Tony barked and for once, Bucky was agreeing with him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I can’t change the facts,” the doctor said, before turning and leaving the Avengers in a tense, worried silence.

As soon as they were allowed, the Avengers all trickled in to see Clint two at a time. Bucky – as much as he wanted to be at the forefront, went last, allowing those who’d known Clint longer and best to see him first. Who was he against all that?

When he finally got his own turn, Bucky’s heart rose into his throat and his knees wobbled. Clint lay there, pale and still on the hospital bed, wrapped in casts and bandages, an incessant beeping filling the room. It would be annoying if it wasn’t proof that he was alive.

Steve’s hand on his shoulder was a comforting weight, but it wasn’t enough. Bucky wasn’t sure if anything less than Clint waking up would be.

The next few weeks were a nightmare for Bucky – for all of them.

They Avengers all took turns at Clint’s bedside as he did not, in fact, wake up as they’d hoped. He healed while he ‘slept’, and if there was any silver lining to it all, Clint wasn’t aware of the pain of his body healing and wouldn’t be driven nuts by being grounded.

Clint was always moving, hated being boxed in. He always slinked out of Medical as soon as he was able, and, from what Bucky heard, more than once when he shouldn’t have. Natasha had had the honor of finding Clint in less than optimal condition more than once after he’d busted his stitches or passed out on the way back to his rooms.

Not that Bucky had personally witnessed the latter himself. Since he’d been here, Clint had never gotten hurt that badly.

And now he had been and Bucky didn’t know how to deal with it. He felt selfish about it, like he was the only one that mattered here when he knew he didn’t. They all loved Clint, Clint just had this… way with him that brought them all in.

Bucky used to be like that.

Weeks turned into months and Bucky watched the team falling apart around him. Steve and Tony’s guilt weighed them down, Steve retreating to the gym and Tony snapping at anyone who got in his way. Nat haunted medical like a ghost, talking to no one but keeping an eye on Clint unless she was sent out on a mission.

She went reluctantly, a meaningful glance passing between her and Bucky each time. he swallowed and nodded.

Sam, Pepper and Bruce did their best to keep them together, but everyone was too prickly with the worry, about the halfway state Clint existed in. Neither dead nor alive.

Sometimes it was all too much, and Bucky found himself joining Steve at the gym, trying to punch holes into more acceptable things then defenseless walls.

He’d tried the range first, but it was too filled with Clint for him to bear it.

It was during one particularly heavy sparring match between Steve and Bucky that JARVIS’s voice rang out, halting them in an instant.

“Clint’s awake.”

**  
**


	3. A Little Bit Forgetful...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winterhawk Bingo - Square : Amnesia
> 
> i started writing this story with this square in mind and then found the other squares falling in line. they just made sense together. 
> 
> p.s. i'm aware i could have made this angstier, by them already being together but... i kinda like writing the part where they realize they've been in love with each other the whole time. so, we'll get there ;D

Natasha was there before the rest of them, because of course, but Steve and Bucky weren’t far behind. They slipped into the all too familiar room just as Clint finished putting his aids in. He looked… he looked frazzled, tense and wary.

He didn’t look quite right, something pinging Bucky’s head in familiarity but he couldn’t place it. He hung back as the nurse who’d been helping Clint with his aids left, leaving Nat and Steve in the forefront.

Bucky glanced at Nat and couldn’t figure out the look on her face. Black Widow as always harder to read then most people, and only Bucky’s familiarity and history with her enabled him to read her at all, at least sometimes, when she allowed it, but this was…

Was she afraid? Of what? Clint was _awake_, finally and truly _awake._

Birds might actually be singing.

“Hey there, buddy, you gave us quite a scare,” Steve said, reaching for Clint’s shoulder.

Clint flinched away and his hands came up in a defensive gesture that set Bucky’s teeth on edge. “Whoa! Hands to yourself, bro!”

Steve reeled back in surprise, blinking. “Clint –“

“And how the _fuck_ do you know who I am?” Clint’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Jesus,” Steve breathed out, his eyes going wide. “Clint, what’s the last thing you remember?”

Oh.

_Oh god._

Bucky choked. He couldn’t help it. if Clint didn’t remember Steve… there was no way he’d remember Bucky. Bucky hadn’t imagined anything could be worse than Clint dying but this might actually rival that.

No, don’t be so selfish. At least Clint was alive and memories could come back, and failing that, new ones could be made. He was proof of it. He shouldn’t give up hope.

But it still hurt like hell, watching Clint’s hand reach up to grip his uninjured shoulder at the question, his eyes looking so damn _lost _as he whispered, “Barney… he – “

And then Clint shook his head, cutting himself off, shutting down, shutting them _out._ He stared at his shoulder in disbelief, his hand pulling aside the hospital gown to see an old, old car. He closed his eyes and dropped his hand, turning to face away from them.

Before him, Nat stiffened and Bucky leaned forward, asking quietly, pitched for her ears only, “How much did he lose, Natalia?”

“Roughly twenty years,” she breathed out softly enough that Clint couldn’t hear it, only Bucky. Steve was looking between them and Clint, distress and uncertainty on his face. Bucky knew that Steve hated not being able to _do _something about a situation. It was how a skinny kid from Brooklynn became Captain America to begin with, how Bucky had come back to the fold, because Steve could never let anything lie, he always had to help somehow, someway.

And there wasn’t _anything_ he could do about this.

Bucky wasn’t sure there was anything _anyone _could do about this. He watched the scene helplessly, not even having to imagine how it felt to lose parts of your_self._

It wasn’t something he’d have wished on his worst enemy – though he’d be tempted – and certainly not Clint, who was as far from being an enemy as he could be.

The room breathed tension, silent as everyone tried to figure out where to go from there – which was when the door opened once more, this time to reveal Tony. Sauntering in, Tony beamed as he jubilantly declared, “Welcome back to the land of the living, Legolas!”

Clint winced, opened his eyes, and _glared._

Tony faltered.

“Hey, uh, you’re not mad I didn’t catch you, right? I didn’t _mean _for you to get hurt, I swear. I’m actually working on my suit right now – better thrusters for next time – of course, we all hope there won’t _be _a next time – “ Tony babbled, stopping only when Steve barked out his name.

Blinking at Steve in surprised, Tony finally registered the tone of the room.

“Uh… what did I miss? Why aren’t we celebrating?” Tony gestured grandly at Clint. “He’s _awake! _Surely that’s worth a party? Where are all our smiles? The jokes? The demands for pizza and coffee?”

Steve opened his mouth, but he must have used up his quota on breaking bad news because nothing came out. Nat’s lips were pursed tight, like she was barely keeping a lid on strong emotions and Clint – hell, he was still upset and glaring. It looked like no one else was going to say it, which meant that it had fallen to Bucky.

He hoped he could do it without cracking, because somehow, despite Clint being right there, _saying _it made it more real, that much hopeless.

“He doesn’t remember us, Tony,” Bucky said, his voice together and thicker than he’d liked.

“What? Don’t remember? Not even me? Surely, he didn’t forget _all_ of us? Not possible.” Tony stared around the room desperately then back at Clint. “You must remember Nat? Everyone’s favorite spider? She predates all of us by… by a lot, I’m pretty sure.”

“Who’s Nat?” Clint asked sullenly.

Tony’s eyes went wide. “That’s… a hell of a lot to lose.”

Clint’s face was shifting, towards scared more than the belligerent panic he’d been toeing. “How… how _much _have I lost? Why don’t I remember anything?”

“We were in a fight – you fell. None of us could reach you in time. You were…” Steve’s breath shook, but at least he was talking again. He took a breath, steadied himself and went on. “You were trapped under a building. We thought we’d lost you, but you’re alive and that’s good. Wouldn’t be the first time one of us lost their memories.”

Steve’s head twitched, like he was going to turn around and look at Bucky. Bucky glared at the back of Steve’s head, daring him to do it. _I’m fine pal, _Bucky thought_, Why won’t you **believe** me?_

God, Bucky hoped Steve wouldn’t treat Clint’s amnesia the same way he’s been treating Bucky’s lost memories. It could get so unbearable, sometimes, Steve poking at his memories, pushing him to remember and getting sad when Bucky just _wasn’t the same person anymore._

“You’ll be okay, Clint,” Bucky assured him, doing his best to put sincerity behind his words despite the despair at having suddenly lost his only other close friend. They’d get through this, one way or the other. They _would _be all right.

“How long?” Clint asked again. “How much of my memory have I lost?”

“Hard to say,” Tony said, digging his hands into his pockets. “You’re pretty close mouthed about your past and I’ve been respectful enough not to go digging – you can thank me later. Or not, cause really, it’d be to your advantage now if I had. In fact – “

Tony’s hands moved, leaving his pocket, pulling out some sort of Stark tech – probably a newfangled tablet or something - and Nat’s hand shot out and snagged his wrist.

“Don’t,” she stated firmly. “If and when Clint gets his memories back, he would _not _appreciate that sort of help.”

“But how _long?” _Clint’s voice was edging towards panic again.

Nobody answered him.

Bucky stepped forward, dropping a hand on Nat’s shoulder as he moved past her. “I think _she_ knows. Nat?”

She closed her eyes and nodded. Opening them she stared at Clint with a sad smile. “I’m sorry, yastreb. It’s been about 20 years, give or take.”

“Twenty years?!” Clint choked. “No way! This is a joke! I’m on Candid Camera, right? I gotta be!”

“I’m afraid it’s not a joke, and I’m not sure – what’s cand – never mind,” Steve said, glaring at Nat. “I think we should have broken that a little softer.”

Shaking his head, Tony said, “Gotta say, I agree with the spider here. He’s going to look in the mirror at some point, Cap. There was no way to break it to him gently.”

“It can’t be… twenty years,” Clint said weakly. “I’d be past the prime of my life!”

Someone passed him a mirror – Tony, of course – and Clint stared at himself, his hands reaching up to his face to trace the lines of it, shock sending a tremble through his body.

“Oh my god,” Clint whispered. “I’m _old_.”

Bucky couldn’t help the snort, something hysterical pushing it out, and everyone stared at him with various looks of disapproval and exasperation. He rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, I’m pretty sure that most of us in this room right now are actually older than Clint.”

“Being a popsicle doesn’t count,” Tony said absently, watching Clint even as Clint looked up from the mirror at Bucky, broken out of his horrified staring contest with himself – grateful for the interruption, it would appear, if he didn’t look so damn _confused_.

Cause Clint was frowning, again, or more like it had never stopped, but the frown was different – the kind that meant he was trying to figure out a specific riddle - and then he turned his head and his frown deepened as he stared at Steve. “Am I on the_ good_ drugs?” Clint asked. “Cause I think I’m seein’ things.”

“Well you are, cause nothing but the best for my friends,” Tony said. “But if you think you’re seeing Captain America and his sidekick, Bucky Barnes? You’re not hallucinating. Though you still could be, I wouldn’t rule that out. See any pink elephants?”

And suddenly, just like that, Clint was shutting down once more. Dropping the mirror to a side table, he glared pointedly at them while he took out his aids, shuffled about in the bed and closed his eyes. It couldn’t be any clearer of a dismissal.

The four of them left his side, closing the door behind them, just as Bruce, Sam and Pepper joined them, breathless and excited until they saw the looks on their faces.

“Oh my god,” Pepper said, her eyes wide. “Oh my god, what happened? Is he okay?”

“The perfect picture of health,” Tony snarked bitterly. “Except for the amnesia but hey, head trauma, y’know? Not like the doc didn’t warn us he might wake up funny.”

Pepper gently steered Tony away as Bruce deflated, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Bucky watched Nat slip away so fast Sam completely missed it and Steve just looked… tired, so damn tired.

As for himself, Bucky felt lost and alone. He felt as if the rug under his feet had been yanked away, leaving him off-balance and out of sorts.

But if he felt like shit, how much worse did Clint feel?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more to come! i just couldn't resist putting up the first three chapters so far, though i've got more ready...


	4. Deep Discussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amnesia or not, Clint still hates hospitals and tries to make a break for it. In the meantime, Bucky and Steve have a bit of a talk...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Bucky Barnes Bingo - Steve Rogers/Captain America square

The only thing keeping Clint in medical was the broken leg. His wrist and ribs were healed, but still tender and sore and easily aggravated, but his leg was still in a cast.

That didn’t stop him from trying to walk on it anyway. Bucky walked in only a day later on a shouting match between Clint and Steve and he stopped in the doorway, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“JARVIS, how long have they been going at this?”

“Approximately 8 minutes, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Okay punks, stop trying to out stubborn each other,” Bucky said, pushing into the room. “Neither of you will win and you’ll be here all day and the rest of us will be looking for earplugs.”

“I’m not _staying _here!” Clint shouted. “You can’t _make _me!”

“Don’t be stupid! Your leg is broken – you’re only going to make it _worse_,” Steve gritted out.

“Steve, I love you like a brother, but you _know _Clint hates being stuck here on a _good _day. You think losing his memory is gonna _change _that?”

Clint smirked at Steve and Bucky turned to face him next.

“And you, Steve is right. If you try to walk on that, you’re just going to fuck it up more. So if you wanna leave, let’s do this _properly_, okay?”

The smirk fell off his face but after a moment, Clint sighed and nodded. “Fine, whatever. Just get me the hell outta here.”

It took a while and a call to both Tony and Nat to get Clint ‘officially’ discharged - the doctors were employed by Tony and Nat was Clint’s emergency contact - and a pair of crutches. Bucky noted unhappily that Clint was all too comfortable using them, in a way that showed he was unsurprised by this skill.

Which meant he was well acquainted with crutches long before the point of his memory loss.

Clint was more shocked by the realization that he could _read_ then he was that he could use crutches like it was as easy as breathing.

What kind of upbringing had he _had? _

And why was Bucky’s heart breaking?

Soon enough, though, they were situating Clint in his apartment, the crutches at his side. He looked around the spacious rooms suspiciously.

“And… this is mine?” he asked.

“Yup. Part of the perks of being an Avenger,” Tony said. “And if you need anything – and I mean _anything _– JARVIS can help.”

Bucky watched Clint shudder. Tony had already given him the run through on what JARVIS was and that he was ever present. It was clear that Clint didn’t believe for a second how discrete JARVIS would be.

“So, if I want him to order me a dozen pizzas – “ Clint started to say, skepticism on his face.

“I have your standing order on file, Agent Barton,” JARVIS said. “Shall I put that through?”

Clint squeaked and jumped, nearly tumbling over as his crutches shifted but he glared at anyone who so much as _looked _like they were going to reach out and help.

Reluctantly, Bucky left Nat to settle Clint in, dragging Steve and Tony with him. the less people to overwhelm him, the better. And it was clear that Steve had been gearing up to say something potentially upsetting if Bucky’s experience of recovering from loss of self was any indication.

Poor Clint probably still needed time to adjust, and the team just hadn’t been giving him that.

It was bad enough when it was just Steve Rogers, all well-meaning and earnest with sad puppy dog eyes, but to have multiple strangers coming at you once in much the same manner had to be disconcerting. Hell, it had to be uncomfortable.

Sam got it, at least, and maybe Nat, cause she was Nat.

But even then, they’d both unconsciously expect Clint to do or say or in any way react to something in a certain manner and he _wouldn’t be doing that_ – he hadn’t had the life experiences that shaped those reactions, that sense of humor - and they’d get all sad before they covered it up again.

He’d watched it time and time again on Steve Rogers face, though thankfully, those moments were coming further and farther between lately. Bucky still didn’t remember everything and Steve no longer pushed him, but it’d been a hard thing, in the beginning.

There was going to be no way to hide everyone’s expectations from Clint. Bucky only hoped like hell he wouldn’t add to Clint’s burden.

Because it was all adding up to a singular, devastating loss for Bucky, one Bucky wasn’t sure he’d be able to recover from. What if Clint never got his memories back but in the shaping of his new memories, had no reason to give Bucky the time of day?

Bucky wouldn’t force a damn thing, cause he knew how rough it would be on Clint, but what if he’d lost his friend forever? Fuck, was this how _Steve_ had felt this whole time?

Suddenly, Bucky had a lot more sympathy for Steve’s behavior over the last year.

They were passing the elevator to the common room, Steve much too quiet for Bucky’s liking, meaning Steve was brooding, again, about how this was all his fault, and Bucky wasn’t feeling much better, so Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm and shoved him towards the elevator.

“What?” Steve blinked, though he didn’t resist.

“You. Me. Sparring,” Bucky said shortly.

“Oh.” Steve’s forehead crinkled up in that way that meant he was thinking and that was never a good sign for Bucky. _Shit._

Thankfully, the elevator let them out on the gym level at just that moment and Bucky kicked off his boots and ran through a series of warmups. Steve did the same, staring at him thoughtfully the whole while until Bucky got tired of it and decided to distract him.

Launching himself at Steve, Bucky poured out a flurry of kicks and punches that Steve deflected with a grunt. They fought like that for a good ten minutes, Bucky breathing hard – not from the exertion but from all the thoughts and emotional turmoil rolling through him.

Steve didn’t say anything about it, until he did, still dodging, still throwing his own blows towards Bucky. “You gonna be okay, Buck?”

“I should be asking that about you,” Bucky growled out.

“I’m not the one who’s in love with him,” Steve said mildly.

Bucky faltered, stumbled and ran right into Steve’s fist.

His head snapped back and Bucky came to a halt, panting and gasping. He let himself drop to the floor, his head and arms hanging out over his bent knees, and tried to breathe. _Steve had known? _He raised his head just enough to peer at Steve through the curtain of his hair and swallowed.

Steve stepped back, falling out of a fighting stance and held his hand out to Bucky.

Bucky ignored it. “You knew?” he asked softly.

Rolling his eyes, Steve dropped his arm, came around and settled down beside Bucky, bumping their shoulders together. “Think we all do, but I knew first. I _know _you, Buck, even if you’ve changed some. I know the core of you.”

The words were maybe meant as a comfort but it only made Bucky shudder, for him to gasp in realization. “Steve, I’m so sorry.”

“For what, Buck?” Steve stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“I never considered things from your point of view – how hard it must have been to see him – _me _– and not be known. To be so close and not be able to touch your past,” Bucky said, struggling with the words, fighting to put his feelings out there in a way that Steve could understand. He didn’t used to have such a hard time with it, but these days, it was just so hard.

“Listen to me, Buck –“ Steve wrapped an arm over Bucky’s shoulders and squeezed. “I’m so damn proud of you. You may not be the same man you were, but you’ve pieced yourself back together against all odds and if I’m being honest, I’m not the same either – and I did that by choice.”

“Besides, like I said, in our cores, we are the same,” Steve said earnestly, tapping Bucky’s chest. “You’re a good man – a good man who got lost for a little bit. You’re stubborn and caring and you give me shit when I need it and support even when I don’t want it but should take it anyway and shut up about it – that hasn’t changed and it won’t change, no matter how much or how little you remember.”

“Far as I’m concerned, you got nothin’ to be sorry for,” Steve finished.

“But I was just so… so _angry _at you, for pushing at me all the time. And, fuck, I was so damn mad at myself for not being who you wanted me to be, for not being able to remember. I was angry at you because you wanted me to be someone I wasn’t, someone I wasn’t sure I ever could be again,” Bucky pushed.

“Yeah,” Steve chuckled. “You were a great big ball of anger there for a while and I’m sorry for my part in that. Look, I think we can agree, it was hard on both of us. But now – you’re in a unique position to understand where everyone’s coming from and if we get to be too much, too intense for Clint, you can back him up and tell us all to take a long walk off a short pier.”

“I’d tell you to do that anyway, punk,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said, smiling. “Look, I _am _sorry. For making it harder on you. I’ll try not to do that to Clint too.”

“Good. I’m holding you to that,” Bucky said.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Steve said, grinning. “You’re a good man and I know you will.”

“Fuck off, punk,” Bucky growled half-heartedly.

“Make me,” Steve said, leaping to his feet.

Bucky surged upwards after him. What was that phrase Clint was always saying?

“Oh, it’s _on _now.”


	5. Bucky's Got a Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's clear to Bucky that Clint's itching to take off, but can they really let him go out into the world alone when he can't even remember who his enemies are?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Bucky Barnes Bingo Square - Teammates

Clint spent the next two months as a ghost in the tower. He rarely left his apartment after the first few attempts, when everything and everyone had clearly been overwhelming. Even Bucky’s sharp reminders to the rest of the team weren’t near as effective in some regards in comparison to others.

If Bucky could tie up Tony Stark and stuff him in his own lab and get away with it without Pepper (or Rhodey) coming after him, he’d have done it.

Tact, Tony Stark did _not _have.

Bruce and Sam behaved, thank god. Steve tried, bless his heart, but Bucky had to tell him to take a hike more than once.

Nat…

God, _Nat._

Clint had rebuffed everybody’s advances towards friendship, but she’d taken it the hardest. She didn’t let it show on her face, but Clint – despite the memory loss – clearly was still able to pick up on things from her, even if he didn’t quite catch what it was he was picking up on.

He watched her with both a fascination and dread that was hard to witness.

And the first time Thor had come in, bellowing and all extravagant gestures, Clint had frozen in place before remembering he could use his crutches to get away. His movement was jerky in his haste to get away and he tripped. Thor caught him and Clint wrenched away, throwing himself back – Bucky winced in solidarity when he saw Clint’s face go white with pain from the action – shouting,

“Don’t _touch _me!”

Thor stared after him as Clint struggled back to his feet with the assistance of the crutches and hobbled away. Bucky watched Thors face go through several emotions at once – shock, confusion, hurt – before he faced the rest of the Avengers.

“Have I done something to anger our hawk?” Thor asked.

“No, it wasn’t you, buddy,” Tony said. “A little retrograde amnesia and a bad childhood _will _make for a bad combination.”

“Tony!” Nat snapped, stalking towards him. He quailed before he rallied and straightened up, clearing his throat.

“Uh, yes, Nat?” Tony said.

“Did you dig into his past even after I told you _not _to?” she hissed right into his face.

Tony leaned away and swallowed. “Only a little bit,” he ventured. “I thought if we could better understand what he was going through, it would help us to reach out to him.”

Bruce stepped between them – he never seemed afraid of anybody, but then, Bucky supposed if you could turn into an unstoppable green monster, there wasn’t much else to be afraid of, except yourself – and cleared his throat.

“Look, we’re all worried about Clint,” he said. “Tony’s heart was in the right place even if it was a dick move.”

“Did you just say dick?” Tony’s eyes widened.

Nat snarled. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not!” Tony protested. “I’m just –“

“Shut up!” Bruce shouted. Tony’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click. Bucky was impressed. “Fighting isn’t going to help Clint. In fact, I’d hazard to say it’ll make things _worse_.”

“You’re not wrong,” Natasha murmured. She glared at Tony, then walked away.

The rest of the room seemed to melt in relief.

Bucky wished he could say that was the end of that, but when Mohammed didn’t come to the mountain, the mountains all paid visit to Mohammed. At all hours of the day, Bucky would catch an Avenger loitering outside Clint’s door.

He also noticed that someone was making late night visits to the common kitchen when it would be presumed that everyone else was asleep.

Of course, this was the Avengers Tower and not one of the Avengers had a normal sleep schedule – either because of work, or because of nightmares. Bucky had to enlist JARVIS’s help to run interference on Clint’s behalf, because the poor guy needed to be able to set his own boundaries and expect that they’d get respected.

He needed time. And if familiar faces and familiar digs weren’t enough to snap him out of the amnesia, they needed to _give _him that time.

Unfortunately, as the day came closer and closer to Clint’s cast coming off, the more and more convinced Bucky became that Clint was going to make a final bid for freedom and they’d never see him again.

Either because he was too stubborn to come back, or because he’d have gotten himself killed. And Bucky was betting on the latter.

Hawkeye had a lot of enemies out there and without even knowing it, they’d be able to take advantage of Clint’s memory loss.

They needed a plan for the eventuality that Clint would leave the tower.

So Bucky sat the team down and laid it all out: If Clint wanted to leave, they would let him, because choice was important. But they’d do it on _their _terms – one of them would go with Clint. The world had changed much in 20 years, and Clint would hit more obstacles than he expected.

Nat, of course, volunteered to go with him. Steve did too. Bucky shot them both down.

“Me. I’ll go,” he said. The briefing room erupted in loud voices arguing against him and he growled. The room quieted again.

“It’s got to be me. Nat’s too close to everything. Steve, you’re too important to have go missing. Tony’s too volatile, he’d rile Clint up too much and then we’d _really _lose him. Thor scares him. That leaves Sam, Bruce and me. Bruce doesn’t like leaving the tower,” Bucky said, sending Bruce an understanding look. “And Sam can’t go on extended trips with his VA work. I’m the newest and least important member of this team. I can protect him if shit goes down, and I have the best chance of getting him to relax into his own skin.”

“You’re not least important – “ Steve started.

Bucky raised his hand and Steve, for a miracle, stopped talking.

“I do not like this, friend Barnes, but I see the wisdom in your plan,” Thor acknowledged, inclining his head towards Bucky.

“His logic _is _sound,” Tony said. “Gotta give him that. Right. Check ins, on the regular. Go somewhere remote and out of sight.”

Bucky nodded. “I’ve got a few places in mind that might work.”

“Safehouses?” Steve asked, skepticism clear in the raised eyebrow he pointed at Bucky. “Unless you’ve set those up on the sly since coming back here, those could be HYDRA. You could be walking yourselves right into a trap.”

“Actually, no,” Bucky said. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I thought maybe we can head towards an environment Clint might more easily recognize. It could help him relax a little. He grew up on a farm, right? There’s a little place upstate that’s I’ve been looking at for myself, for when I need something other than all this. We could set up there, start getting the place in order. Keep him busy and useful and out of harms way.”

“Buck, you were… you were going to _leave_?” Steve stared at Bucky with a wounded look.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Steve,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes. “I was hoping I could make it into a little retreat for any Avenger who needed time to themselves. The Towers’ great and all, but it’s…” he floundered. “It’s just… a little too much sometimes.”

Tony huffed. Bucky really didn’t mean it as an offense, and he hoped Tony hadn’t taken it as such. Especially as fragile as the truce between them still was.

“Well, terminator’s thought ahead. Maybe he’s right about a little downtime. I endorse this plan,” Tony said. Bucky’s eyebrows rose in surprise and Tony chuckled. “What? I can admit I can be a little over the top sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Steve said, shaking his head, but he was smiling now at least so Bucky was counting this as a win.

JARVIS agreed to give them a heads up when Clint was on the move and they adjourned, Bucky packing himself a go bag so he could be ready in an instant. With JARVIS’s help, he finalized the purchase of the little farm and arranged for some things to be delivered there through Starks discrete services. Bucky just hoped the virtual walk through he’d done would be good enough preparation on what needed to be done to the place, since he hadn’t had the opportunity yet to see it in person.

He’d hoped to, had even held off on the final purchase till he could arrange an appointment, but he needed to be able to depart at any second and he planned on fixing the place up anyway so… Bucky just had to hope this would work out the way he’d planned.


	6. Running Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky wasn't wrong and, as he confronts Clint sneaking out of the tower, he's just glad he had a plan already in place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this sadly doesn't hit any squares. :( oh well!

Bucky caught Clint sneaking out of the tower a mere two weeks later – not that anyone would have stopped him after Bucky had preemptively made sure they wouldn’t, but Clint clearly expected it, if the hour was anything to go by.

Clint froze as his eyes caught on Bucky leaning against the door to the underground garage and he sneered. “What, you guys keeping tabs on me? Did they send you to make sure I didn’t leave?”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky crossed his arms over his chest. “Can it, pal. Nobody here will ever force you to stay. I ain’t here for that.”

They stared at each other for a moment before Clint said, “Fine, then get outta my way.”

“You sure do have a chip on your shoulder, don’t you?” Bucky said, not moving.

“If I’m not a prisoner here, than prove it and get out of my way,” Clint growled out, pushing to stand toe to toe with Bucky.

Bucky looked up at Clint, but didn’t back down. It was _Clint_. “I’m not here to make you stay. I’m here to go with you.”

“Why? Don’t think I can be trusted on my own?”

“No, Clint,” Bucky sighed, letting his arms drop and pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, are all blondes as stubborn as you and Steve? I’m here because I’ve been where you are and you shouldn’t have to go it alone. Take it or leave it, I just wanna help.”

Clint scoffed. “Been where I am? The great Bucky Barnes, WW2 hero? Yeah, sure, buddy, we’re _soooo _much alike…”

Well, seemed like Clint had been doing some research – still, there were a lot of things not in the public records and Clint no longer had the knowledge to apply the skills he’d learned over the years and do the digging properly.

Combine that with a kid’s cocky attitude, tempered by Clint’s current inability to _trust _anyone, Clint was probably gonna land himself in some sort of mess.

He probably would resent getting called out like that, though. Still, Bucky was Bucky, and apparently some things you didn’t forget – like how to deal with stubborn blondes with chips on their shoulders.

“Anyone ever tell you, you’re kind of an asshole?”

“All my life,” Clint said with a wide, smirking grin. But something bitter and _lost _flickered in his eyes that made Bucky’s chest hurt. Not for the first time Bucky wondered what Clint’s life like was like that had made him into _this?_

_Jesus._

Nobody as ‘young’ as Clint was should be so jaded and yet… flashes of memory, of growing up during the depression, of Steve constantly sick… Bucky had to concede that life just wasn’t fair sometimes. A fact he’d had hammered home all too often over his entire life.

But Bucky had _loved _sci fi for more than the fantastic stories and the wonderful ideas of future technology – he’d eaten them up, those pulp novels, because they’d brought hope of a _better _future – a cleaner one, where children didn’t starve and people were generally safer and happier –

The future had let him down, but it had never been more apparently obvious than in the form before him, of the usually so tactile Clint Barton who now avoided all touch with a hint of fear _and _longing – neither of which he could quite hide. He sneered defiantly while his eyes filled with fear, he flinched and jerked anytime someone tried to touch _him_, and packed away food like someone was coming to take it away from him.

It was goddamn heartbreaking, was what it was.

This was a Clint without the rough edges rounded off by friendships he was clearly sorely lacking at whatever point in his life Clint was stuck reliving. It hurt as Bucky realized Clint had fought through it once and come out the other side, a bit of a disaster but a hell of a human being – and he’d had all of that taken away from him and he didn’t even know how _important _he was to people, didn’t understand that they truly cared for him.

“Besides, if I’m with you, the rest of the Avengers won’t freak out when they find you missing in the morning.” Bucky turned and stepped into the garage, walking towards one of the cars.

Unconsciously or not, Clint followed after, still talking. As much as he wanted to leave, he didn’t really want to be alone and Bucky was counting on that.

“They want me to be someone I can’t even remember. It’s suffocating.” Clint was whining a little, but Bucky could give him a pass.

“Believe me, pal, I know,” Bucky commiserated. “At least I only got one punk trying that shit on me, you got a whole team.”

“Except you,” Clint said suddenly, as they stopped by the car Bucky had picked. “Why?”

“I told you. I’ve been in your shoes.”

“What am I to you?” Clint asked. “Why the hell do _you _care when…” he choked off the last bit and Bucky _itched _to know what he had been going to say, but the question hit him hard, a blind jab at the feelings he kept under wraps as much as possible.

Bucky paused, glad he wasn’t looking at Clint, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep the pain off his face. _Everything. _“Just friends,” he said, finally.

“Bull,” Clint said. “There’s something else…”

“My only friend besides Steve, okay?” Bucky croaked. “Losing you hurts, knowing you don’t _know _me anymore, that I mean nothing more than… than… a random stranger in the street would.”

Bucky turned away from the car to stare at Clint hard, willing him to get it. “You don’t know just how much you’ve _done _for me. Helping me to feel… _normal _again, or as close to normal as guys like you and I can get. You must have looked up some stuff when you were holed up in your room – “

The shift of Clint’s eyes sideways was all the answer Bucky needed for that.

“You would have seen – I wasn’t originally part of this team,” Bucky said softly. Clint’s eyes came back to his face. “Steve saved me, but I was broken – I didn’t know who I was and I did things I’m not proud of when…” Bucky took a breath. “I had _my_ memories torn away, my sense of self stripped and my will beaten down. I was tortured and sent to kill my best friend – and punished when I failed.”

Clint’s eyes were wide as Bucky continued to speak. “But Steve found me and brought me home and I’ve been fighting to become _real_ ever since, to become a _person _again, and you were there. You didn’t judge, you didn’t push, you were just there. A sympathetic ear, an _understanding _one. You treated me like I was a person.”

“So yeah, you mean a hell of a lot to me, Clint. But as much as you forgetting me hurts, I’ll deal. It’s my turn to be there for _you, _the same way you were for me. I just hope I can live up to your example,” Bucky said.

“But I’m not that guy,” Clint whispered hoarsely.

“Maybe not,” Bucky agreed. He opened the door, tossing his bag into the back seat. “And I’m not Bucky Barnes anymore either. I’m someone new. Someone you helped me find. I’m part 1940’s Bucky, part Winter Soldier and part something else – and it all adds up to a brand new Bucky. Even if you get all your memory back, all of this,” Bucky waved around them, between them, “will change you.”

“Something you once told me –" And surprisingly enough, so had Steve, not that long ago “– if a sum of experiences makes a person, then we are never the same from one moment to the next, always changing. There’s nothing wrong with that,” Bucky said. “You taught me that.”

Clint swallowed, staring at Bucky with eyes that looked too young for the face they inhabited. “Sounds like I was pretty wise, I guess?”

“Yeah, yeah, you were. You are. You can be again,” Bucky said. “What do you say? Willing to give it a try?”

Clint bit his lip. His face was mostly blank despite that, but his eyes were filled with turmoil – a war between wanting to trust Bucky and his learned gut reaction to just push people away.

If he was honest, Bucky could see that the gut reaction had never fully gone away, Clint had just hidden it better. Had maybe fought against it. Trusting people hadn’t been second nature to him, but he’d cultivated it anyway.

He wasn’t alone in that.

Clint nodded, and a wave of relief swept through Bucky so strong his knees shook.

“Did you even have any sort of plan on where to go?” Bucky asked, as Clint opened his own door. Unlike Bucky, he didn’t let his bags out of his sight, putting his backpack on the floor between his feet, the bow resting against his shoulder.

Clint shook his head sheepishly.

“Okay then, if you don’t have any ideas, I’ve got a place that should be fairly isolated. We’ll head there for now, reevaluate later. Sound good?” Bucky asked as he slipped into the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, man, whatever,” Clint said, slumping down into his seat. He clutched the bow to him like a lifeline. Bucky felt bad for him. It must feel like the only constant in his life right now.

He caught sight of Nat as he started the car. Her face was sad, but she didn’t approach, letting Clint have the space he wanted, merely giving Bucky a slow nod before stepping back into the shadows and out of sight again.

Had he just gotten Widow’s blessing?

Well, that was something then.

**  
**


	7. A Short Road Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gives Clint a little insight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one doesn't hit any bingo squares either *pout* but i am kinda vaguely thinking this one and the last one would hit the mandatory fun day prmopt for Road Trip from like, a million years back...

They’d been on the road for 3 hours before Clint spoke up.

“The Battle of New York – you weren’t there?”

“No,” Bucky said shortly. Looked like Clint _had _made use of the time he’d locked himself into his apartment and did his research. But exactly how hard had Clint looked?

“It’s so hard to believe… that guy with the bow - that really was me? I’m… an Avenger?”

“Yup,” Bucky said.

“And I save the world and shit?”

“That you do. And you do it on a team filled with superheroes and still hold your own.” Bucky glanced at Clint. “Not many people can say that. You should be proud.”

“Wow,” Clint said. “I looked pretty bad ass.”

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, you do.”

“But why weren’t you there? You’re an Avenger too, aren’t you?”

Bucky’s hands clenched on the steering wheel and he winced as the material creaked under his hands. He forced himself to relax his fingers. “You bring a phone with you?”

“No?”

“Of course you didn’t,” Bucky muttered. Letting go of the wheel with one hand, he pulled his out of his pocket and tossed it at Clint. “Look up the fall of SHIELD – in DC, ‘bout a year and a half ago.”

Clint caught the phone and thumbed it on and did as Bucky said. Bucky caught sight of a rest area and decided to pull in just as Clint found a video. Turning off the car, Bucky got out and slammed the door behind him, walking a few paces away and just _breathing_.

That hadn’t been him_. _It hadn’t been _Bucky _who’d almost killed Fury, Nat, Sam and Steve and countless others if those Helicarriers hadn’t been taken out. It didn’t matter that he had those memories, because it hadn’t been _him._ The him inside had been screaming at the Winter Soldier to stop.

Hydra had just made it impossible to hear.

But with the added weight of Steve’s voice, the floodgates had been cracked and Bucky – broken and disoriented as he was – had taken advantage of it and pushed through, reclaiming his body.

Then he’d spent the next year and a half reclaiming his mind. At first alone, and then with help he hadn’t been sure he deserved.

But it _hadn’t been him. _

Of all the memories that remained and the ones that were taken away, he sure wished the ones of the Winter Soldier carrying out his missions, all those memories of the Winter Soldier being tortured – he wished those were gone.

Bucky took another deep breath, steeled himself, then turned back to the car. Clint was gaping at the phone before he shook himself and opened the door.

“Was that – was that you? Fighting your best friend and… doing all that shit?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said.

“But… you were _fighting _the Avengers and now you _are _one? I don’t get it…” Clint said, leaning across the top of the car and sliding the phone over. Bucky caught it and pocketed it.

“I told you. Brainwashed. I didn’t remember who the hell I was until I ran into Steve in DC. Then everything came crumbling down and… I took my chance. I ran and tried to remember, then Steve came after me. Still don’t remember everything, but I’m better than I was.”

Clint eyed him thoughtfully and Bucky sure as shit hoped that dredging up the bits and pieces he didn’t want to remember would help Clint through this, help him get some sort of ground under him so he wouldn’t feel so lost and overwhelmed.

Anything he could do to help Clint, Bucky would do it.

He was a goddamned goner.

Jerking his head over the parking lot, Bucky grunted out, “Let’s get some food.”

Clint’s stomach rumbled and he grimaced, but nodded.

* * *

Clint waited till they were back on the road, in the privacy of the car, before he brought it back up. “How much do you remember?”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s… hard to quantify,” he said. “I’ve remembered a lot, but I still catch Steve giving me the disappointed look when I don’t remember something he does. I think I’ve made a lot of progress in the last year and a half, though, considering I didn’t even know my own my name at the start of it all.”

Clint nodded. “I guess I’ve got that going for me,” he said softly.

“Sometimes, there are things I wish I didn’t remember,” Bucky admitted. “Steve hates when I say that, because I think he believes it would mean forgetting everything – even the good stuff. He’s also said some crap about how even the bad memories define us by how we rise above them. All I know, is that they hurt.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, looking out the window. The bow was back in his hands and he was twisting it back and forth, back and forth.

“Still, the bad memories – they’re a little easier to bear, now that I’ve got friends. And the better memories help push away the bad shit,” Bucky said.

“Make good memories to cover the bad ones,” Clint said. One hand pulled away from the bow, reaching up to rub at his shoulder before twitching upwards toward his ears. He stopped, dropped his hand back into his lap. Seconds later, Clint’s hand had joined his other on the bow.

The rest of the trip was done in silence, broken only by the radio. So it was another two hours before either of them said anything again, Bucky pulling up a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, New York. The farmhouse itself wasn’t large and definitely needed a bit of work. The barn was in better repair, but the corral had seen better days. A sparkle caught his eye and he could just manage to see the bit of water behind the house that was something between a large pond and a small lake.

“Where are we?” Clint asked as they got out of the car and stretched.

“My new place, I guess,” Bucky said. “I planned to do some work to it, eventually make it an Avengers retreat. But, honestly, it’s mostly for me. And you, if you’d like to stick around.”

“It looks like crap. Exactly what were you aiming for?”

Bucky bristled at the words, more invested in Clint’s good opinion – even this snarky, (mentally) teen aged version of Clint if Nat’s estimate of how much he’d lost was correct - than Bucky had any right of being. He shoved it down. “Peace and quiet, something to keep me busy.”

Clint went thoughtful over that. “Huh,” he said. “Then I guess you succeeded, but _man, _you’ve got your work cut out for you.” He looked at Bucky suspiciously. “I suppose you suggested this place to get some free labor outta me?”

Forcing himself to shrug nonchalantly, Bucky said, “Do whatever you want. Walk the perimeter with me so we know where the grounds end while I put some security up, but I didn’t bring you here to force you to work. Just… promise me not to wander off without telling me where you’re headed first.”

“You’re a pretty paranoid bastard, aren’t ya?”

“It’s not paranoia if people are really out to get you,” Bucky said quietly, not looking at Clint. His metal hand clenched and the plates shifted. “C’mon, I wanna see how bad the place is.”

Grabbing his bag, Bucky headed for the farmhouse, Clint close behind. The house was dark, lit only by the sunlight streaming through the curtainless windows. They’d have to see about getting the electricity up and running soon, especially if they wanted anything to eat later.

Or coffee in the morning.

Bucky dropped the duffle onto the cracked counter in the kitchen and opened it. Clint gaped at the arsenal inside.

“What the hell? What exactly are you doing with all… that?”

“You’re an Avenger, Clint, whether you remember that or not, and the Avengers have stepped on quite a few toes to keep the world safe. They’ve got enemies out there, which means _you _have enemies. You may still have your skills, but you don’t have any idea who to look out for.”

“So you _are _my babysitter,” Clint said bitterly, drawing back.

Pausing, Bucky closed his eyes and counted to ten. “No. More like a bodyguard. Hell, not even that. More like a spotter.”

“A spotter.” The words were flat.

Bucky sighed. “You’re as touchy as Steve.”

Clint glared. “Tell me why I shouldn’t just grab my stuff and leave.”

“Because if our positions were reversed, you’d do the same damn thing,” Bucky said. “This isn’t about competency. It’s a safety precaution and we’re doing it because you’re family.”

“I don’t got any family,” Clint growled suddenly, his hand went up to touch the shoulder – again. The same damn shoulder. It wasn’t a gesture Bucky had ever seen Clint do before, and here he’d done it at least three times that Bucky could remember. What the fuck had happened? “Not anymore.”

“You didn’t, but you do now,” Bucky said. “The Avengers are weird, they’re kinda crazy, but they are. They _are _family. I didn’t want to believe it at first either. Not after I – “ he took a breath, released it. He could do this. “Look, Tony has damn good cause to have me locked up, but instead he’s welcomed me into his tower, he’s given me my own apartment, and he’s made me feel at home. First real home I’ve had in 70 years.”

“What did you do?” Clint asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

“I killed his parents.”

Clint’s eyes went wide. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck,” Bucky said. “I even _knew _his dad, from the war. We were… we were friends. But under HYDRA’s control… I remembered nothing, I did what I was told. Now I remember all of it.”

“That sounds like a fucking nightmare,” Clint shuddered.

“It is. Have ‘em almost every night, pal,” Bucky said quietly. “Enough of this heart to heart. We -_ I _– need to check over the house.”

Bucky walked away, feeling torn up inside. He kept dredging up the shit he wished he could forget, just for Clint, but at least Clint didn’t seem as close to hightailing it out of there as he’d been.

Whether he stuck around, well, jury was still out on that. Bucky hoped to hell Clint did, though, hoped they could rebuild the rapport they’d had before, if Clint’s memories never came back.

But he’d never be able to do that if Clint didn’t give them a chance, didn’t reach out and _trust_ – just a little bit.

So if that involved opening himself up in ways he wished he didn’t have to, Bucky would do it.

He just hoped it wouldn’t ultimately wind up for nothing.


	8. Midnight Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Bucky are settling in, for the most part, but nightmares seem to have followed both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Clint Barton Bingo square Nightmares
> 
> additionally - i have finished writing this story, so i expect to have finished posting this by the end of the week :D

The first few days were rough. Electricity was on, but Bucky had had generators delivered for security purposes that needed installation.

“Why did you need _two _of them? And why not just hook the cameras and shit right into the house electricity?” Clint asked, poking around the basement where Bucky had decided the main generator would go.

“Don’t want any spikes to show up in the public grid. Also, we’d be too easily cut off if we were under attack. And there’s no _way_ I’m setting this up without a second unit as backup,” Bucky said, maneuvering the generator into place.

After the generators were hooked up – some specialty Stark monstrosities that were likely overkill for Bucky’s needs but, better safe than sorry – the two of them mapped out the rest of the land, marking down sight lines and good locations for hidden cameras and trip alarms.

It was the better part of a week before it was done to Bucky’s satisfaction enough that he finally slept through the night.

He woke to the scent of coffee, surprised when he noted how late he’d slept in. Huh. Guess he needed that. Paranoia was a tiring business.

Getting up, Bucky tossed a shirt on and made his way out to the kitchen. Clint was there, leaning up against the counter as he’d done every morning since they’d arrived – though usually Bucky was there to witness the adorable zombie shuffle Clint made to reach his morning coffee (that part hadn’t changed) – staring at Bucky over the rim of his mug.

“Mornin’ grandpa,” Clint said.

“Can it, pal,” Bucky groused, grabbing his own mug from the cabinet and pouring his coffee. “Y’know you’re older than me, right? And you’re even more of a mess in the morning than I am.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just a mess in general,” Clint said, shrugging.

“I think it’s a prerequisite of being an Avenger,” Bucky said, leaning up against the counter next to Clint. “We’re all messed up one way or the other.”

Clint coughed. “What? That doesn’t – I mean… you’re all the Avengers. You save the world and shit. You’re superheroes. You guys should be all, y’know, perfect and shit.“

“Trust me, we ain’t. If you’d spent any time in the common room, you’d have learned that first hand.” Bucky wiped a hand over his face. “God, it feels weird to be talking like this. You don’t look like a kid, but essentially, you are.”

Clint bristled at the words. He was way touchier than he used to be and Bucky kept forgetting that. “No offense meant. What I’m getting at is, we’re only human, and we’ve got our character flaws just like everyone else.”

Clint looked… he looked devastated at the idea. Bucky frowned, trying to figure that one out. Clint drained his coffee and set the mug in the sink. “I’m gonna check the cameras,” he said, walking out of the kitchen, leaving Bucky to ponder exactly what might be going through Clint’s head.

Before he could get lost in his thoughts, his phone rang and Bucky sighed, pushing off the counter and going back to his room. He fumbled the phone in one hand, coffee still held in the other, and answered it when he saw Steve’s name on the screen.

“Hey, punk,” Bucky said.

“Hey, Buck, how’re things going up there?”

“Well, he hasn’t run away yet, so, I’d say we’re doing good.”

“Right, right,” Steve said. He sounded a little distracted and Bucky frowned.

“What’s going on?”

“Words gotten out that Hawkeye’s dropped off the map,” Steve said. “Be careful out there.”

Bucky let out a breath. “But no word about him not being alone?”

“Not that we can tell. You’re still new, fairly low profile so far. Hawkeye, though, he’s been a staple of the Avengers since day one. He was definitely missed. There are rumors of undercover ops, of getting kicked out, that he was hurt really bad – “

“That last ain’t wrong,” Bucky muttered.

“Yeah, I know. I’m worried. We’ve got the jet on standby and let’s move our check-ins to a daily basis, just in case,” Steve said.

“Agreed,” Bucky said. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’ve got things to do.”

“Sure,” Steve said agreeably. “Hey, you’ll tell us when –“

“When I think he’s up for company? Of course,” Bucky said. “Now get off the damn phone. I got things to do and you’ve got puppies to save.”

“You’re such a grump,” Steve said cheerfully. “Go drink your damn coffee.”

He hung up and Bucky slumped on the edge of the bed staring at the phone. Hopefully, no matter what their enemies thought, nobody would trace Clint here. If JARVIS couldn’t hide a digital paper trail, then Bucky didn’t know who could.

Dressing quickly for the day, Bucky hesitated, reaching under the bed for his arsenal, adding a couple of guns to join his usual knives.

As much as Bucky was hoping this place would stay off the radar, he wasn’t just going to ignore Steve’s warning, even if it was uncomfortable to do farm work with guns on him. Clint was already vulnerable and had made himself more so by leaving the tower. Bucky couldn’t do anything about those things, but he could damn well make sure he didn’t ignore how out in the open they were out here, how alone they were.

He’d die to protect Clint, which was a scary thought – but not actually a new one, if he was honest - and one Bucky hoped he wouldn’t have to follow through on.

* * *

Despite Steve’s warning, three weeks went by quietly. Progress was made on the farm, routines were formed and Clint started to relax around Bucky, even pitching in without Bucky asking. Sometimes they talked, other times they were content to work together in comfortable silence.

It was almost like normal between them, except that their shared history and all their late-night sleepless commiserations were all but gone.

Bucky still woke in the middle of the night with nightmares of HYDRA and falling from trains and killing Steve, but the Clint he sometimes ran into when he finally tossed the blanket aside didn’t have the same experiences that Bucky had had, couldn’t make just the right comment to get Bucky out of his head.

Except that he did – in wholly different ways than Clint had before.

“Look, can’t say I understand what you went through,” Clint said - _Except you do, if only you could remember, _Bucky thought – “but from what I can see, you’re a good guy.”

Bucky went to shake his head and Clint reached over, grasped Bucky’s head in his hands and stilled the motion.

“Dude, seriously. If you’d been my dad, that dog we found in the trap the other day? He’d have shot it – not to put it out of its misery, but because he found a sadistic pleasure in doing it, and he’d rant about dumb fucking dogs the whole damn time. You? You didn’t even hesitate to help the dog, bring him back here and try to put him back together. Same as you’re doing with me.”

Bucky stared at him, wide eyed.

“Look, there are truly nasty people out in the world. People who weren’t tortured and brainwashed and otherwise coerced into doing bad shit. They do it because they want to, because they like it. You said the Avengers aren’t perfect and… I hated that idea, because with all the bad shit in my life, the idea that somewhere out there were people so good and pure was… it let me hope for a better world, okay? And when you said they were just as human as the rest of us…” Clint laughed bitterly.

He took his hands away, wrapping them around his mug. “It was like a little more of my hope had gone. But… you’re just… _you._ Grumpy, scarred, with nightmares too and you still _try _and I think I finally get what makes superheroes… super. They’re not perfect, but they don’t have to be perfect to be good. They’re _trying _and they inspire others to try.”

Bucky stared at Clint. This was the most the new Clint had said at once since the amnesia, and it seemed to him that a bit of the old Clint was starting to bleed through, unless Clint had always been this wise, even as a teen.

He swallowed and nodded at Clint. “Yeah, I guess. Doesn’t stop the nightmares though,” Bucky said.

“I get that. Been dreaming about… “ Clint shook his head. “No, it’s stupid.”

“What?”

Clint blew out a breath, hunching over. “I don’t even know why it scares me so much. I’ve so many other things that keep me awake at night, but I keep seeing… flashes of blue – glowing blue – it’d be pretty but, I feel this hopeless dread and then I jerk awake.”

“Loki,” Bucky breathed.

The old Clint _was _bleeding through. Would he be trapped in dreams forever, giving the new Clint nightmare fodder he’d never understand or would he ever emerge?

Head shooting up, Clint stared at Bucky. “You know what it means?”

“I wasn’t there,” Bucky hedged.

“But you know?” Clint pushed.

Bucky nodded. “Battle of New York. You were temporarily brainwashed by Thor’s brother, Loki. You um, did some damage before Nat knocked some sense into you.”

“I was brainwashed?” Clint said, shuddering.

“Yeah, was kinda how we bonded, the first time,” Bucky admitted. “The brainwashing, the sharpshooting, the nightmares. The two of us have more in common than one would expect, considering I’m a ‘man out of time’ and you’re a carnie.”

“I did bad things?” Clint asked, his eyes meeting Bucky’s in a haunted look that reminded Bucky too much of the old Clint. The little bit of ironic amusement he felt in repeating words Clint had once said to him faded away.

“Sorry, pal,” Bucky said, wishing he could pull Clint into his arms and comfort him. but even before the amnesia, the two of them didn’t do that. “But yeah. Just remember – it wasn’t really you, anymore than I was me when HYDRA had me.”

“Does that help? Reminding yourself?”

Bucky shrugged. “Sometimes.”

Clint cleared his throat. “So, uh, this is… this is normal, for us?” Clint said, gesturing between the two of them. “We’d get together in the middle of the night and talk about our nightmares?”

Bucky nodded and Clint bit his lip.

“So, then, you know all about… about my parents and… and Barney and – “ his hand touched the lobe of his ear and tugged lightly enough not to dislodge the aid sitting almost invisibly small in his ear. He looked raw, as he spoke, the idea of someone knowing him that intimately seemed to scare him to no end.

“No,” Bucky said gently. “It was never like that. I know your childhood was less than ideal, as had been mine, but you didn’t tell me much about it and I didn’t push. If you had wanted to, I would have listened, but...” Bucky shrugged.

Standing, Bucky went to the counter and started the coffee pot again. It was too late at night, or too early, depending on your point of view, but they needed the comfort and he didn’t think they’d be going back to sleep again any time soon.

When the pot had started gurgling, he turned and leaned up against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Look, the old you might have moved on from all that shit, but you haven’t had that opportunity yet. It might help to talk about it.” he gave another roll of his shoulders. “Or not. But it’s up to you.”

Clint fidgeted, staying quiet all through the making of a new cup of coffee, but finally he nodded and, in halting words, he laid out more about himself than Bucky had ever known.

But much of Clint’s recent behavior since waking in the hospital bed was explained. His flinches at loud voices, his reticence for touch, his goddamn _ears_.

How could a parent justify beating their kid so hard they lost their hearing? Or at all?

And then there was Barney – his own damn brother. Bucky had seen the scar on Clint’s shoulder but the man was covered in scars and Bucky hadn’t realized it was anything more than just another mark on his skin. Clint was fairly casual about them, most of the time, so he hadn’t made the connection between the scar, and Clint’s recent tendency to clutch at his shoulder – where the scar was, where Barney had shot him.

Bucky ached for the harm that had been done to Clint, by the people who should have cared for him most.

“Jesus, doll,” Bucky croaked. “You ain’t had an easy one, have you?”

Giving Bucky a crooked smile, Clint shrugged as if to say it was no big deal. But it was. Times had been hard, growing up; the depression, the war… but Bucky’s family had loved him. Steve’s mom had been a saint. They hadn’t done…

Bucky repressed a shudder.

No wonder Clint found it hard to believe the Avengers could be family – cause when had family ever done anything but hurt him?

The urge to hold Clint was even stronger than usual, but Bucky held back. Now that he knew, more about Clint’s past, Bucky could understand Clint’s reticence towards such things. But damn, Bucky missed the casual touches Clint used to hand out as easy as breathing.

Maybe… maybe Bucky should start there? Something small, easily brushed off if Clint needed to? Bucky had spent too many years without a gentle touch, without something good and god he missed those. Those touches had been grounding, reminding him he was in the here and now and they had felt _good_.

How long had it been since Clint had felt anything like that? In linear time, it would have been months. With the amnesia and Clint’s past, who knew? Which meant Clint had to be _starving _for it by now.

Swallowing, Bucky resolved to start, to try and make Clint feel better anyway he could.


	9. Slips of the Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's like Clint for a long while, but having his feelings revealed like this was not part of the plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winterhawk square - Mutual Pining

Clint yawned his way into the kitchen the next morning as Bucky was making breakfast. It had been a late start, after the nightmares and their early morning discussions, but eventually Bucky had been able to go back to bed for a little bit and he hoped Clint had too.

“So what’s with the scruff?” Bucky asked, struck, suddenly, by the growth on Clint’s face, only realizing than it had been growing for a while, though he’d seen it at various stages.

Some situational awareness _he _had, he thought wryly. If he’d had a lapse like that while under HYDRA’s control, it would not have gone well for him.

Clint’s face – which had been blissful at the scent and taste of coffee and bacon, having snatched the sizzling slices directly from the pan and juggling the too hot pieces with quiet, _“ow, ow, ow’s_” – went blank.

He sighed, running a now greasy hand over the scraggly blonde almost-beard he had going on. “It’s gonna sounds dumb-“

“I know the Avengers – including Steve Rogers,” Bucky snorted. “Trust me, nothing’s too dumb.”

“I dunno,” Clint said.

“Ever feel the urge to jump out of a plane without a parachute?” Bucky said, glancing at Clint out of the corner of his eye. Clint looked horrified, mouth gaping open around a chunk of bacon. He snapped it shut, finished chewing and swallowed.

Bucky tore his eyes away.

“That’s crazy!”

“That’s Captain America.”

Clint chuckled ruefully. “Okay, still… I just, I just can’t _stand _to look in the mirror. I don’t know the face staring back at me. It makes me feel… weird.”

“You weren’t scruffy when we left the tower, though,” Bucky pointed out, sliding the last of the bacon slices onto a plate and grabbing a knife. He planned to make some hash and had some skinned potatoes just ready for cutting.

“You’re right. JARVIS? He uh, helped me find something I could slap on my face without looking at my ugly mug. Hurt like a bitch, though,” Clint shrugged again, uneasily. “Brought some of it with me but, I ran out.

Clint looked at him suspiciously when Bucky just nodded and hummed. “So, dumb, right? Can’t shave because I can’t even look in a damn mirror?”

“Nah, been there, doll. I get it. Should have expected it, really. For me, it was a complete disconnect cause I didn’t know _what _to expect when I looked in the mirror but you – you’re used to an entirely different face. Neither’s easy on a person. But if the scruff gets too much for you, I could maybe help with that,” Bucky said.

“You know, I think that's the second time you've called me doll in less than 24 hours. First last night, then now…” Clint’s voice trailed off and Bucky froze.

Shit. Had he? "Uh..." He forced his hands to move again. "Didn't realize." His voice came out gruffer than intended and he hoped Clint hadn't noticed.

He wasn't so lucky.

“I take it that's _not _normal, then?" Clint shifted away and Bucky’s ears tracked him down the counter to the coffee pot where Clint was refreshing his mug.

"No," he said. In his head, sure, but Bucky had never let himself say the word out loud, or any of the endearments he wished to attach to Clint. It would have given himself away, and he hadn't been ready to put himself out there yet – maybe ever - not when there was a very good chance he'd be rebuffed.

It should have been easy to hold back. While some things had changed in the last 70 years – hell, a lot really –Bucky could still remember when the wrong word, the wrong glance, could have ended in a beating or worse. Not that it couldn’t still happen – there were always bigots out there in the world – but it was more _accepted _now.

Despite that, he’d been too _afraid _to let himself think of Clint that way. He’d never had to put himself out there like that before for a guy and Bucky felt out of his depth. He couldn’t afford to screw things up with Clint. He needed the archer like he needed _air._

So the fact that he was slipping up – hadn’t even _noticed – _was deeply concerning.

"I asked you before what we were to each other. Did you lie to me?" There was a sharp note to Clint's voice, a discordant noise Bucky wasn't used to hearing aimed at him.

"What? No! I would never - " except that he had, hadn’t he? By not saying anything, by hiding his feelings, he _was _lying to Clint - "Not… it wasn't...it wasn't exactly a lie," Bucky said, breathing hard. He'd dropped the knife and was clutching at the counter, hard. He heard it creak under his metal hand and tried to relax it.

“I think I need you to explain.” Clint

"Just because you mean something... special... to _me_, doesn't mean I do to you. So, there's nothing between us,” Bucky said, his voice rough. He cleared his throat. “Therefore, not a lie.”

"I'm not so sure about that," Clint said slowly.

Bucky whirled to face him and recoiled because Clint was close, so damn close. His back hit the counter with a dull thud as he blinked owlishly up at Clint. "You can't say that. You don't even know who you are – you can’t know if – if - "

"No," Clint agreed. "But you've always drawn me in. From the first, I’ve been _so ready_ to trust you it scared the shit out of me. There's something..."

He stepped closer, reaching past Bucky to put down his mostly full mug and Bucky’s eyes followed the movement before snapping back up to stare at Clint who’d edged even closer. Clint was caging him in, their bodies not even touching, but Clint’s arms were bracketing Bucky, hands braced on the counter.

Bucky was stronger. He could easily push Clint out of his way but he stood frozen, his brain grinding to a halt.

“I think we both know what that something is," Clint breathed, his lips ghosting over Bucky’s.

Bucky whined, his eyes closing as their lips touched. He wanted this - _had wanted this_ \- for so long but... Clint wasn't Clint. He was... he was a _kid._ Mentally, a kid. This wasn't right.

Bucky tore himself away. "This isn't a good idea.” His voice was rough once more, with need, with conflict and all too much emotional whiplash.

Clint angled forward again, nuzzling at Bucky’s neck. Bucky gasped, his eyes closing, a deep shudder running through him. "Look, I’m over 40, right? I think I can make my own decisions."

“But you’re _not!” _Bucky finally mustered the strength to bring his hands up between them, to push Clint back – the last thing he ever wanted to do, was to push Clint away. How was this his life? “Physically, sure, but_ mentally?”_

Clint’s face scrunched up in anger, his hands clenching into fists as he growled. “Jesus! I’ve already _lost _over half my life! And I may never remember it, Bucky, but I’m still _me_. I can't hide away for the rest of my life waiting for something that might not ever come back. That's not - _life_. Don't I deserve to be happy?”

Bucky reeled as if he'd been slapped. Hadn't he said the same words to Steve? More than once, even?

Still, his head whirled. What was right? If he acceded to Clint's wishes, would he be taking advantage of him?

“I... I need to think,” Bucky whispered. He felt like a coward for running away, but what could he do? He pushed at Clint again, and Clint turned on his heel and stomped away, so much like a petulant child – and yet the behavior was so very Clint and he just… didn’t know what to _do._

* * *

Bucky went through the rest of his morning on autopilot. Finish making breakfast. Clean up the mess. Check the cameras. Check the perimeter. Work on the roof.

The whole time, Clint avoided him. Around midday, Clint emerged from the house with his bow, stalking over to the makeshift range they’d put together for him. The _thunk-thunk-thunk_ of arrows hitting their target was a soothing counterpoint to the whirl of emotions and thoughts in Bucky’s head.

What should he do now?

Briefly, he considered calling Nat, but what would he say? What could _she _say?

Bucky doubled down on his task, working up a sweat, the sun beating down on him mercilessly. He didn’t stop until he heard the thunder rolling and he pulled back, looking up for the first time in hours, only noticing then how dark it had gotten.

He’d simply thought the day was getting late, but overhead the skies were filled with heavy thunderclouds, lightning flashing off in the distance.

The rhythmic _thunk-thunk-thunk_ of arrows that Bucky had gotten used to hearing was gone, and Bucky felt a prickling between his shoulders. He looked over the edge of the roof to see Clint staring up at him, blank faced, before his glance flicked back towards the same clouds.

Bucky watched the clouds slowly shifting towards them and started gathering up his things, with an eye towards any gaps that might leak during the storm.

“Hey, uh, so, if you stay up there, do you become a lightning rod?” Clint called up. From someone else, it might have been insensitive, a dig, but from Clint it was just one of those things. Clint, who had never been afraid of Bucky or his arm, which had always felt _good._

“Don’t plan to stay up here and find out,” Bucky called back. Another sweep with the wind picking up, Bucky covering the rest with a tarp, and then Bucky was leaping down.

Clint’s eyes followed him the whole way and Bucky felt warm, felt a blush come over him, but he’d come no closer to figuring things out then when he went up to the roof to begin with, so he tried to ignore it.

Together, they made sure the farm was secure, the wind having increased much more than Bucky liked, then retreated to the safety of the farmhouse.

There was, for the first time, an uneasiness between them, made all the more glaring as Bucky suddenly realized there’d been nothing remotely similar – not when Steve brought him back to the tower a broken mess, not when Clint tried to run away and Bucky had convinced him to stick together.

He busied himself making food, in case the power went out. Bucky wasn’t concerned about the generators he’d set up, but they were doing more important things. It occurred to him while the steaks were sizzling that he should probably do his check in for the day. Thunder rumbled through the house, wind shook the shutters and then the sky opened up, a thundering sound that almost drowned out the ringing of the phone he held between his ear and shoulder.

“Buck, what’s up? Everything still good up there?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Bucky said. “Just doing our check in before the storm hits.”

“Sounds like it already has,” Steve said. “And are you sure about that?”

“Sure about what, Stevie?”

“Don’t give me that, Buck. I can tell when somethings off. Talk to me,” Steve pushed gently.

Bucky let out a low breath, glancing quickly around to make sure Clint wasn’t in hearing range. “He’s doing fine. Adjusting, I think. Don’t think anythings come back to him yet, not that I can really tell, anyway.” He _wasn’t _going to tell Steve about Clint’s nightmares, the ones that included Loki. He didn’t want Steve worrying even more.

“But?” Steve prodded.

“Goddamit Rogers, can’t you leave anything alone?” Bucky growled.

“If I did, you wouldn’t be here,” Steve said.

“Damn, you fight dirty,” Bucky said.

“Always have, you know that.”

Right, cause when you were the little guy, there was no such thing as a fair fight.

“Something happened between you two, didn’t it?” And there he went, Steve Rogers, never pulling any punches.

“He kissed me,” Bucky said.

“That’s good, though, isn’t it?” Steve sounded a little confused. Bucky frowned. “It’s what you’ve wanted ever since you got to know him.”

“Steve! It’s inappropriate!” Bucky hissed. He puttered about the kitchen, keeping his hands busy with any task he could think of. “In his mind, he’s like, 17. Which means I’m twice his age!”

Bucky threw his head back and rubbed at his eyes. “And it’s confusing as hell, cause he’s physically older than I am and I have to keep _reminding _myself that essentially, he’s just a kid! I can’t take advantage of him like that! Fuck, I just don’t know what to do and I think he’s a little bit pissed at me right now.”

“Cause he thinks you’ve rejected him?”

“I wish I could do anything but step back from this, from him, but it isn’t right,” Bucky said.

“Sounds like you already know what to do, then,” Steve said. “Maybe things will – “

Steve’s voice cut off and Bucky frowned.

“Steve? Are you there?”

No answer. Seconds later, it turned to static. He pulled the phone away from his ear to check it. The power was still good, but it looked like reception was out and the call had dropped. Wonderful.

Sighing, he pocketed the phone and concentrated on finishing dinner. He could talk to Steve later, when the storm passed.

“Should have accepted one of Starks phone,” Bucky muttered.

Then the lights went out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am probably going to post both the last chapter and the short epilogue at the same time when i get home from work tonight (which is after midnight EST)


	10. Under the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Powers gone out in their refuge and Bucky's going to find out why, make sure Clint is safe and sound in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Clint Barton Bingo - Square filed: Dark

In and of itself, the power outage wasn’t overly concerning – until Bucky went to check the camera’s and found them off too. Which meant something had taken out not one generator, but two in addition to the public power grid.

Which meant the phone had just been a first symptom of an infiltration.

He wondered if Steve realized something was wrong and how fast he would get there. Not that it mattered, because whatever was happening, Bucky wasn’t going to stand by and just _let it._

Thankfully he kept an arsenal both on his person and spread throughout the house – if you knew where to look – and Bucky instantly went on high alert, needing to find Clint, make sure he was safe.

When they’d come back inside, Clint had disappeared almost immediately. Bucky had assumed up to his room, but if someone was coming after them, then Bucky wasn’t going to leave anything to an assumption.

One of the generators had been hidden away in the trees of the property – the other had been in the basement. If both had gone out – then whoever had come for them was already in the house.

How had he not _heard_ them? Why hadn’t the cameras picked anything up?

Bucky eased out of the kitchen and into the living room, lightning flashing and filling the room for just an instant, thunder following after. The split second had been enough to note that Clint wasn’t there, his bow left atop the table.

The storm.

Of course. Whoever it was had timed it well. How long had they been waiting for an opportunity like this? No, that didn’t matter.

He quickly finished searching the bottom floor, only his better than average sight and brief flashes of lightning allowing him to see anything, then made his way up the stairs as quietly as he could. Lightning flashed again when he hit the second floor landing and Bucky could see Clint’s door not only ajar, but splintered. Just over the sound of another crack of thunder and the rain hammering the roof, Bucky could hear sounds of struggle, but the hallway, at least, had been empty, allowing him to sneak up on Clint’s room all too easily.

They knew he was in the house too, they had to, but they didn’t know _where_. Bucky had to resist the urge to call out for Clint, to storm into his room and give away his location. Something flickered across the broken doorway and Bucky shifted his grip on his knives, took a breath, then dove inside.

Lightning flashed again and Bucky’s eyes darted about – noting 4 black clothed assailants advancing on him, a broken window, signs of struggle but _no Clint._

Eyes narrowing, Bucky let loose. There was no worry for collateral damage here and he didn’t hold back his strength.

He only needed one alive, just in case.

Whoever he was up against wasn’t prepared for him, for his strength. They hadn’t even drawn their guns, relying on hand to hand combat to take him down. But while both Bucky Barnes _and _the Winter Soldier had been known as snipers, he was no slouch when it came to up close combat.

With a growl, he slashed forward, whirled and stabbed down, a grunt and a scream punctuating his strikes. His arm came up to block a blow, then he ducked under another that he felt, more than saw, sweeping out his leg at the same time, temporarily felling another. Bucky’s metal hand shot out, grabbed the ankle of the fourth man and yanked, his opponent hitting the floor hard before Bucky stood and swung the man back into his companions, felling the third once more.

Another slash, another stab – and gunfire spilled into the room from the window, a spotlight temporarily blinding him, the bullets cutting down the men Bucky had injured. Bucky lunged back out into the hall, shielding himself with his arm. He didn’t have his uniform, a tac vest, _nothing_. And super soldier or not, enough bullets _would _kill him.

A sharp pain registered across his ribs but he dismissed it, sheathing his blades. Sprinting down the hall ahead of the hail of bullets, Bucky snagged the rope and pulled hard. The ladder to the attic came down, ripping away from the ceiling with the force Bucky put behind it. Leaping up, he grasped the ledge he’d created and flipped up into the attic, heading for the section of roof he hadn’t yet finished repairing.

Bucky climbed up slowly under cover of the tarp he’d laid down only – hell, how long had it been? Half an hour? Forty five minutes? Less? – before and crawled along to the edge of it, carefully lifting it up to look out with one hand, the other reaching for a gun.

There was something hovering – not a helicopter, something higher tech and near silent – before Clint’s room, still spraying bullets with abandon. But they didn’t seem to realize Bucky wasn’t there anymore.

The amount of weaponry being brought to bear on one man would have been laughable overkill normally, but he supposed it spoke well to their fear of the Winter Soldier that they did.

Too bad they were shooting at empty air - unless their men didn’t get out first - and it wasn’t going to work.

Bucky aimed down, peering through the thick rain, and squeezed the trigger – one, two, three, four shots – and the gunfire stopped, a couple of bodies slumping over in the airborne vehicle, a third falling to the ground and the spotlight taken out. The vehicle jerked forward and started to lift and Bucky surged up from under the cover of the tarp and leapt down, landing on the roof of the craft and slipping slightly over the wet surface.

A memory flashed – there and gone again – of having done something similar another time just as he punched his hand through the glass he didn’t remember sliding down, grabbed the pilot by the throat and twisted. He let go, the pilot slumping, the vehicle lurching drunkenly as it skewed in the air.

Bucky kicked in the rest of the window, his body following after. On the other side, Clint lay slumped but he was starting to stir. Somehow, Bucky stayed on his feet as the craft shuddered. He reached Clint and grabbed him around the shoulder, leading towards the open gap.

“Get ready to jump!” he shouted over the downpour.

“Get ready to what?” Clint shouted back, eyes still a little dazed.

Bucky didn’t wait. He tucked Clint close, eyed the crafts trajectory, mentally tracing what lay beneath them, and jumped. He curled around Clint as best as he could considering Clint was taller than him, flipped in midair, his back hitting the ground with a wet, heavy splat, rolling with it to take the impact and keep Clint safe.

Thankfully, the vehicle hadn’t gotten too high when he’d taken it out, so it was an easy fall – for him, at least.

Seconds later, Bucky came to a stop hunched over Clint as the craft hit the ground mere feet away and exploded. He grunted as the debris flew past him and only relaxed a few moments later when he was sure everything had settled.

He sat up, checking over Clint by the light of the fire of the wreck currently burning merrily away behind them. “You okay?”

“Now that I’ve caught my breath, I think I’m good. A few bruises, a bit embarrassed and I lost an aid, but all in all, could be worse.”

Bucky sighed out in relief and stood, extending his hand out to Clint to help him up. Clint took it and stood, looking about them with a grimace. Bucky wavered a little, then sagged, Clint catching him with a wordless shout when he turned back around just in time.

“Bucky, what’s wrong?”

_Clint was stronger than he looked_, Bucky thought idly as he struggled to keep his feet. His breathing had suddenly become a little bit harder.

“I’m fine,” Bucky tried to insist, shifting towards the farmhouse. He just needed a moment, sit down… the steps were _right there_. The rained was tapering off – a quick evening thundersquall – but the ground was squishy and his foot twisted and slipped when he tried to move forward.

Beside him, Clint grunted, taking the brunt of Bucky’s weight. “Take it easy, Buck. Jesus… Okay… here ya go, sit right there, let me look you over.”

Clint guided him to sit on the steps, and Bucky tipped sideways – on purpose! – to take his weight off of Clint and put it on the wooden beam.

“’m fine,” Bucky mumbled, then coughed a little, eyes closing.

“Don’t you dare die on me, Bucky! Don’t you do it,” Clint begged.

Bucky coughed again and opened his eyes, looking up at Clint properly. Clint’s were wide and panicked, worried – for him? “Wasn’t plannin’ on it, doll.”

“Steve’ll kick my ass if you die on my watch,” Clint muttered. He’d collapsed to his knees beside Bucky and his eyes were scanning Bucky’s body, his hands following close behind, rain no longer pelting Bucky in his place under the porch roof that extended over the stairs.

“Oh, will he? Doesn’t sound like Steve to me,” Bucky said, staring at Clint, hard.

Clint snorted. “Oh please, like Steve doesn’t go around glaring at anyone who so much as _looks _at you wrong. Like, I get it, but Steve needs to relax. And if you die, and Steve doesn’t actually kill me, then Nat and Sam might just do it because I made Steve sad.”

“Nat’d never kill ya,” Bucky drawled out, shifting with a wince as Clint pulled up his shirt. “The two of you have been through too much for that.”

“True,” Clint said absently. Bucky stared at him as Clint’s hot hands worked at his wounds. Did he just - ? “Jesus, Bucky! Why the fuck did you do a fool thing like that for?”

“What? Comin’ after you? You think there’s anything on this wide earth that would have stopped me from rescuin’ you?” Bucky asked.

“You’re all full of holes! I’m not _worth _dying over!” Clint protested.

Bucky reached out and grabbed one of Clint’s hands, stilling his frantic check. “I beg to differ. But it’s moot. I am _not _dying.”

“You better not be,” Clint grumbled. “I finally kissed ya, and if you’re stupid enough to think I’m worth sticking around for, then I want to do that again. For real, this time?” he stared at Bucky with questioning, vulnerable eyes and Bucky’s breathing hitched a little.

Bucky tugged at Clint’s hand, drawing him close enough for Bucky’s metal hand to reach up and caress the side of Clint’s face, settling in to cup his jaw while Clint swallowed.

“You remember?” Bucky asked, hardly daring to breathe.

“Yeah, I remember,” Clint said, flushing. “Thanks for taking care of my stubborn ass and… for not taking advantage of the uh… younger version of me.”

“Of course, doll,” Bucky said. “Anything for you.”

“Anything, huh?” Clint asked, leaning close, eyes darting down to Bucky’s lips. Bucky’s heart pounded -

A throat cleared behind them. “As touching as this scene is, the quinjet is only 10 minutes behind me. I did a quick scan of the grounds, doesn’t look like anyone’s left. We’ll definitely have to do a bit more work out here before it becomes secure enough for a retreat, but it’s doable,” Tony’s voice said, with that echoing quality it got when he wore the suit.

Clint groaned and closed his eyes and Bucky would have echoed the sentiment but, he did actually hurt a bit and in danger of dying or not, it was probably best to get himself checked out.

There should be _plenty _of time to kiss Clint after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why do i keep coming up with ideas that will inevitably force me into writing ACTION scenes?????  
I hope this worked for you guys!! *nervous chewing of fingernails commences*


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Square filled: Clint Barton Bingo - cuddling

A week later found Bucky and Clint back at the tower - Bucky already all healed up, of course, in absolutely no danger of dying, just like he’d said, though they’d had to work fast to get a few bullets out before his skin had healed over. It worried him a little that he hadn’t even noticed them till _after_ the fact, the fear that he might be returning to the blank slate of the Winter Soldier all too real.

He’d almost had a panic attack over it and Steve had insisted Bucky go see his therapist. She’d declared him just fine – that it wasn’t a symptom of the soldier, but a symptom of adrenaline. The relief had been immense.

And through it all, Clint had been at his side.

Clint still had some faded bruises on his face and torso – his instincts had steered him well when he was attacked and only a lucky strike, a trip in the dark that caused him to hit his head once more, had caused him to go down and get captured.

But that was all that he’d gotten and while they healed slower than Bucky’s more prominent wounds, they were almost gone.

The Avengers had all heaved a collective sigh of relief the instant they’d realized their Clint was back. They’d all hugged him, patted him on the back, but Nat had thrown herself at him and held Clint tight and muttered, “Don’t ever do that to us again, yastreb.”

“I’m so sorry I worried you, Nat,” Clint responded.

Bucky had smiled at the scene, resisting Steve’s help for a moment, unwilling to let Clint out of his sight again so soon, though he still felt a little guilty that he’d taken Clint away from them all, away from Nat especially, even though he _knew _they’d had no choice, that Clint would have left anyway, that this had been the best they could arrange.

Nat cornered Bucky a few hours later, when he finally got Tony’s doctors to dismiss him.

“Thank you,” she said. “It was hard, letting him go. Clint’s the first family I can remember having, but I knew he was in good hands.” She leaned up and pecked his cheek and turned away, leaving him standing there stunned.

And now, they were back in the tower and surrounded by their friends, by their family. The near constant chattering and banter was more soothing than he would ever have thought it would become, but it had, and he was so damn glad.

Currently, he was laying sideways on the couch, Clint curled up on his chest and a blanket laying over them both, a one eyed dog – the same one Bucky had rescued from the trap and that Clint had consequently _begged_ Steve to go back and retrieve after the vet had called to say the dog was good to go – laying across their legs.

This was _everything_.

The warm feel of Clint, the comfort of his breathing, just being able to sit with him like this, fingers curling into Clint’s hair, mindful of his ears. Clint nuzzled down into Bucky with a happy murmur, his hands lazily shifting, tracing trails along Bucky’s arms.

“I’m just saying, the whole damn couch?” Tony was complaining, gesticulating wildly, “You could fit six people on that thing!”

“There are other couches, Tony,” Bruce said calmly from the kitchen. It was a large, open concept room with only the counter and the furniture providing the boundaries to separate the different sections. Bruce was cooking dinner, having refused Tony’s offer of take out for tonight’s meal, saying that it was the first time the entire team would be together after _months_ apart – Thor and Rhodey were both flying in that night – and they all deserved a special, home cooked meal.

Pepper was assisting, insisting that she was taking a break from herding Tony. Who was still ranting.

“Not the way people around here are all cuddle buddies all of a sudden! Dammit, Steve – do you, Sam and Nat have to take up the whole couch too?”

Bucky chuckled and Clint raised his head to peer up at him lethargically. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m just so happy to be here, with you and our family, crazy as it is,” Bucky said, brushing a kiss over Clint’s forehead. “I’m loving having you in my arms, love waking up to your grumpy face.”

“I still can’t believe we’ve both been pining after each other so long,” Clint said. A pillow hit the back of his head with unerring precision.

“We can,” Nat said. “You’re both a couple of stubborn jackasses.”

Clint blinked at her and made a mournful face. “Awww, Nat, you’re not still mad at me that I forgot you, are you? I can’t control memory loss, y’know!”

“You’re. Best. Friend,” she stated solemnly with a mock glare pointing at herself. Then she pointed at Bucky. “And you went off with _him.”_

Steve and Sam pulled her back into their arms, Sam whispering into her ear. She giggled – honest to god _giggled _– and relaxed into their embrace.

“Wow, that still kinda weirds me out,” Clint said softy. Steve’s head shot up and he glared over at Clint but Clint didn’t notice. Bucky shook his head at Steve, rubbing at Clint’s arms.

“Why?”

“I mean, I was only out of it for a little while, and when I come back, Nat’s got not one, but _two _boyfriends! I didn’t even see it coming! _Me! Hawkeye_! Plus, it’s kind of a big change,” Clint said, pouting adorably. “Now I have to share her with two whole other people.”

“I think that’s only fair,” Bucky said, smiling down at Clint indulgently. “She has to share you with me and Lucky.”

Clint grinned up at him. “In that case, I guess she can keep them.”

“Hey!” Steve protested. “What do you mean, you guess?”

Everyone around them chuckled, though Tony was still looking a little grumpy.

Then the elevator dinged and he perked up – even more when Rhodey and Thor stepped out, Rhodey going to Pepper’s side first. He took Pepper in his arms, pecked her lips in greeting and looked over at Tony.

“He been behaving?”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “He’s been a bear. Go, distract him so Bruce and I can finish dinner.”

Rhodey grinned down at her, gave her another kiss before turning and slinging an arm around Tony’s shoulders and guiding him away from the open kitchen.

“Hey, where’s _my _kiss?_” _Tony groused, though he let Rhodey lead him away. Thor greeted Pepper and Bruce, offering to help, which they accepted.

Eventually, though, dinner was ready and Thor dragged (more like picked it up and carried it over his head) a third couch over for Tony, Rhodey and Pepper to occupy – with admonishments towards Tony to keep it PG - while he and Bruce grabbed a couple of recliners. A movie was chosen and food and drinks passed out.

As the opening sequence to the Princess Bride - or so he’d been told it was – played, Bucky looked around the room at the crazy ass people who made up this patchwork family.

Only a few months ago, he’d have felt jealous and left out watching the others cuddling with their significant others, believing it was something he could _never _have, but here he was now, with Clint in his arms.

He didn’t have a little house with a white picket fence, a wife and 2.5 children or whatever it was someone decided the American dream was, and he certainly didn’t live an _ordinary _life, but it was a _good _one – Avenger emergencies and all, though he hoped they never had a call quite as close as the one Clint had given them.

His arms tightened around Clint involuntarily as the fear ran through him, breath catching. Clint squirmed in his arms and Bucky let out a breath, loosened his arms and looked down, smiling at how Clint was mouthing the lines to the movie. Bucky brushed a hand over Clint tenderly, looked up and caught Steve’s eye.

For two broke ass boy’s from Brooklynn that had had a _lot _of shit thrown at them, they’d managed to find a little corner of happiness. Bucky just hoped he could give Clint back as much joy as Clint brought him.

He was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be a quick, one square fic. what the heck happened? I am aware that i could probably have really drawn this out, but this felt right. hope you liked it!
> 
> rebloggable post tumblr post [ here](https://pherryt.tumblr.com/post/187020893821/who-the-hell-is-hawkeye-completed-marvel-post)


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